


The Ride or the Guy?

by thisisapaige



Series: Thisisapaige's Suptober20 Collection [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (at least I made myself laugh and that's what matters), Bisexual Disaster Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Crack, Dean Winchester Being Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Extreme Cas Thirst, Humor, M/M, Strong Language, Suptober 2020 (Supernatural), and the t-rating, on the edge of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26939017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisapaige/pseuds/thisisapaige
Summary: (For Suptober20. Day 10 Prompt: Sweet Rides.)⁂Early one morning, Dean stumbled into the bunker’s kitchen, both sleepy and caffeine-deprived, hoping like Hell Sam had already made coffee (he did!), with his eyes still half-shut. He poured that sweet, sweet, wake up juice into a mug, leaned against the kitchen counter, and took that glorious, tongue burning first sip.That was when Cas walked in.And he was naked!Okay, no, he wasn’t naked but he wasn’t wearing a trench coat which was pretty much the same thing.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Thisisapaige's Suptober20 Collection [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950343
Comments: 17
Kudos: 214





	The Ride or the Guy?

**Author's Note:**

> I love that Bisexual Disaster Dean Winchester is a tag. 
> 
> Alternative Summary: Look, Cas is a gorgeous glass of water and Dean is so, so thirsty.

It all began with a haunted car dealership.

Yeah. That one was weird, even by Winchester standards. The ghost turned out to be a car mechanic who was crushed to death under a malfunctioning lift. The poor guy ended up becoming the ghost of OSHA compliance. Which was great, up until he started killing people for forgetting to wear gloves and shit. 

Anyway, after the "thanks" (or, more accurately, the "please leave because you broke all my windows and scratched up the show cars") from the extremely grateful owner, Cas wandered from the group. When Dean realized Cas hadn't followed him and Sam back to Baby, Dean searched for the wayward angel. 

Among the unsold and forgotten used cars, Cas found a motorcycle. It was dusty, old, and barely street-legal but Cas looked at it like it was the shiniest, loudest, and greatest hot rod on the market. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said as he approached, “we should head out before that guy calls the cops on us.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Cas patted the motorcycle’s seat, sending clouds of dust flying into the air, before he followed Dean back to Baby.

At the time, Dean didn’t think much of it at all. Cas was a weird, dorky little guy, after all.

⁂

The next part was one hundred percent Sam’s fault.

Sam introduced Cas to Craigslist. 

“See?” Sam pointed out the search bar on the laptop. “Type in what you want here and you should get some results. Sometimes, it’s even what you want.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas said.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you have any more questions.”

Cas nodded as Sam left the room, his serious face shining in the light of the laptop. He tapped at the keyboard (pecked, actually, the dude could _not_ type) his eyes flitting back and forth as he read the page. 

Sitting across from Cas at the library table, Dean looked up from his phone and asked, “Why do you wanna look up stuff on Craigslist?”

Cas shrugged. “Curiosity.”

Dean accepted the answer. Cas always had a thing about studying humanity. 

⁂

Then the packages started showing up. 

Big box stores. Small box stores. Local places. Places from overseas. Store brands Dean had never seen in all his life. One time, Sam drove Cas miles to pick up _something_ (for some reason, neither Sam nor Cas would tell Dean what) from an old lady in the middle of nowhere. 

A few days after that last trip, Dean figured out what Cas was buying.

Unfortunately, he was drinking coffee at the time. 

Early one morning, Dean stumbled into the bunker’s kitchen, both sleepy and caffeine-deprived, hoping like Hell Sam had already made coffee (he did!), with his eyes still half-shut. He poured that sweet, sweet, wake up juice into a mug, leaned against the kitchen counter, and took that glorious, tongue burning first sip.

That was when Cas walked in. 

And he was naked! 

Okay, no, he wasn’t naked but he wasn’t wearing a trench coat which was pretty much the same thing. In fact, he wasn’t wearing his usual outfit at all. Gone was the ill-fitting suit, the sensible shoes, and the slicked back dad hair. 

Oh, no. Cas wasn’t little. Not at all. 

Cas wore jeans, slim cut well-fitting jeans, that showed off his powerful, muscled thighs. Fuzzy, warm, green and blue striped socks covered his feet (okay, at least he was still a dorky guy). He wore a t-shirt (his arms were bare! bare and _so_ _strong_ ) in a shade of blue that complemented his eyes. His hair was tousled (was that _product_?), much in the style of when Dean first met him, and his cheeks were dusted in the perfect amount of stubble. 

Oh, no. Cas was _hot._

Dean wanted to shout, “Dude, put your clothes back on!” but he had a mouth full of coffee. Instead, when he tried to speak, the coffee spilled out of his mouth and dribbled down to the floor. Most of it ended up in his slippers. 

Oh, no. That was _hot_.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas said. 

Cas walked past Dean and to the coffee pot, filling his a mug for himself. He didn’t really _need_ the coffee (though that didn’t stop him from stealing the last bit and taking great amusement at Dean's distress) but he said he developed a taste for it and enjoyed partaking in a morning routine. Cas's words.

Cas settled into his favoured seat at the table, politely ignoring the long, drawn out "guh?" sound coming from Dean. Hopefully, Cas would attribute Dean's inability to articulate the word "good" on the lack of caffeine. 

"Morning," Dean managed, deciding to forgo saying the "good" part. Words were hard.

Cas smiled at Dean (dammit, those itty bitty smiles were so cute) and not fair. No, not fair at all.

Dean needed to sit down. Dean needed to sit down before something else came up. 

_Fuck_ , Dean. Cas was just wearing clothes. Nice, good clothes, that showed off his--

Okay.

Cas sipped his coffee, eyes sparkling as he watched Dean struggle to carry his coffee to the table and sit without spilling another drop. Dean really hoped that wasn't a knowing smile on Cas’s (damn nice) face.

Dean knew there was a God. He also knew that God fucking _sucked._ But, still: Lord, please have mercy on him.

⁂

Dean might have lost his mind. 

Cas in biker boots. Cas in leather jackets. Cas in soft long-sleeved henleys. Cas in well-cut tailored suits. Cas in a short black trench coat that showed off his ass.

Yeah. Dean was looking at Cas’s ass. Sue him. It was hiding from Dean for so long. If Dean had only known about it all those years before. It was glorious. Every time Dean looked, it felt a lot like staring into the sun but it was _so worth it._

The only things missing from Cas's new wardrobe were a doctor’s coat and cowboy boots.

No, Dean. Bad, Dean. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

Oh, no. He was thinking about it. 

Dean wondered if he still had Cas’s cowboy hat somewhere. 

Sam cleared his throat, so loud that the other patrons in the diner shot dirty looks at the brother’s booth. Dean glanced up from his bacon omelette (extra bacon with a side of bacon, of course) and judged, from the look on Sam’s face, that Dean had been ignoring him for a while now. 

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam probably wouldn't be so bitchy if he’d ordered something other than the heart-smart egg whatever breakfast wrap. “Dude. Case? Dead bodies? Thinking it’s a werewolf? Am I ringing any bells here?”

Oh, right, _case_. Not Cas. Extra letter. 

Sam sighed. “Seriously, man. What’s got you so distracted lately?” 

Well, cowboy boots, but that probably wasn’t what Dean should say.

“Cas,” Dean said. Goddammit, Dean. That wasn’t any better. Go for the save. “Uh, I mean, doesn’t he seem different lately? With, like, the makeover and all?”

Pursing his lips, Sam stared down at his (sad, sad) plate. His shoulders shook, looking suspiciously like a (poor) attempt to suppress laughter. “Dean, he”-- Sam snorted. Yup, definitely laughter-- “he wanted some stuff of his own, since he’s permanatly moved in the bunker. I helped him out.”

“ _You_ helped him out? Why didn’t he ask me? You don’t have any fashion sense!” 

Sam didn’t hold back his laughter anymore. The entire diner turned and glared.

⁂

Yup. It was werewolves. A couple of silver bullets and a few bruises later (god, Dean was getting old; he ached), the brothers made it home in time for dinner. Parking Baby in front of the bunker's entrance, Dean was distracted with pleasant thoughts about pulling on his soft hot dog pants and warm dead guy robe and watching cowboy movies (that would scratch the itch, he hoped) so he wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings. 

When Dean stepped out of Baby, he was not ready.

He was not ready _at all._

A vintage motorcycle (a fucking cool one), complete with the little round headlight on the handlebars, sat a few feet away. Curvy and sleek, it shone. Its paint and chrome was recently restored, and, on any other day, Dean would have whistled. 

It was probably a good thing he wasn’t able to whistle because Cas, innocently sitting there (oh fuck, was Dean dreaming?) on the motorcycle, would have heard it. Dean choked instead, his throat suddenly dry. Behind him, he heard Sam slam the passenger side door shut.

“Hey, Cas! She’s looking good, man.” Sam walked over to Cas, because yes, that was indeed Cas on the motorcycle (oh fuck, Dean was _not_ dreaming), and they started chatting about the vehicle. 

Wait. Sam _knew_ about this? The whole time?

Dean wanted to stomp over there and ask what the hell was going on, but his legs didn’t work. Dean leaned against Baby’s door (he totally did that on purpose to look cool, okay), and drank in the sight of Cas.

Oh, no. Cas was hot _. Hotter._

Cas wore a leather motorcycle jacket, decorated with a pair of wings (there was Cas’s weird sense of humour, again) on the back. His long (so long) fingers, poking out from a pair of fingerless gloves, held a helmet steady against his hip. He had on a pair of seriously cool biker boots (Dean should totally ask where he got them) and another pair of nice, thigh hugging jeans. 

The worst part, though, was that those thighs straddled (straddled!) the motorcycle seat, holding it upright no problem. 

Wait. Was Dean jealous of a motorcycle? Those thighs could straddle him like--

“Hey, Dean!” Sam waved from his place next to Cas. “Everything okay over there?”

At that, Dean’s legs cooperated. He joined the other two.

Shit. Hot. Hotter. _Hottest._ Dean could see that now that he was up close and personal with Cas.

“Yeah. Uh, sweet--” Dean cleared his throat. Shit, it was dry. “Sweet ride, Cas.”

Sam burst out a laugh. Dean subtly flipped him off. By doing it right in Sam's face.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said. Dean swore Cas’s cheeks were flushed. Cas’s eyes were _definitely_ wide and bright and blue (so blue). “Do you like it?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled. “Love it.”

_All of it. All of you._

Okay, Cas’s cheeks flushed now, for certain. “I’m going to take her for-- how does it go?-- for a spin.”

Oh, no. Hot and cute and a dork.

Dean was so done for. 

After strapping on his helmet, Cas started up the engine with a satisfying roar. He peeled away from the bunker. Dean bet Cas’s wide smile could be seen from outer space.

Sam slapped Dean on the back. Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's shit-eating little brother grin.

“Sweet ride? Seriously, Dean?”

“What?” Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugged. “Looks good.”

“The ride or the guy?”

Dean sucked in a breath. He choked on it. While Dean coughed up both his lungs, Sam didn’t even help him or show concern. His grin only got wider and more shit-eatery (that’s totally a thing). Some brother. Once he shoved his lungs back into their proper place, Dean finally managed to say something. He gulped down air, ready to unleash his deadly comeback.

“Shaddup.”


End file.
